Cadence
by LusciniaeCantus
Summary: Fuji and Tezuka's worlds through their ears. Such are the sounds they hear... [oneshot. TezukaFuji if you choose to intepret it as such.]


**cadence  
**

_by LusciniaeCantus_

**Disclaimer: **Nothing but the plot is mine.

**A/N:** Hello all. Finals are killing me, so what do I do? Write fic of course! XD Enjoy!

* * *

To Fuji, the world is an orchestra of sounds, swooping and diving with chords of sometimes melodic, sometimes catatonic harmonies. Sometimes, there is such a swell of music that Fuji cannot help but look towards it and chase it, leaving behind any current activities. 

For all this, the tensai has never heard complete silence before. Even in the dead of night, as he lies awake contemplating some intriguing aspect of the day, there is a playback of the day superimposed upon the consistent chirping beat of the insects, or in winter, the flute-like sighs of the house and its sleeping inhabitants.

Tennis, for Fuji, was not just any orchestra— it was the London Symphonic Orchestra in his life.

He could hear the trumpets blaring triumphantly when Eiji and Oishi walk off the courts, victory, pride, and joy shining in their eyes, their rackets held high and their smiles iridescent.

He can hear the sharp crescendo of the strings as the violins climb to insurmountable heights when Echizen seals his Higuma Otoshi during that match in the rain. And afterwards, the faint, bittersweet chime of rain-bells as Tezuka confronts him, water soaking through both their uniforms to pierce at the skin below.

It is the reason why he plays the game; to hear the layers upon layers of music build from his opponents until it finally breaks upon itself like waves upon the ocean.

Some say he is fickle, some say cruel, and others call it pure genius—the tensai answers them all with a sweet smile, but they can never hear what he does so he says nothing in return.

--

The world to Tezuka is quiet; there is no delicate ring of notes in the air, no rising pitch of ten thousand violins, no trumpets or flutes or French horns. He is utterly focused, and anything deemed unnecessary to his goals are filtered out.

He can hear the whoop of victory that Momo gives when he wins his Doubles Two game with Kaidou, but not the following congratulatory comments because now a new game is about to start and the Golden Pair is making ready for the court.

Ryuzaki-sensei's voice as she gives him reports and suggestions for the team is clear, and Tezuka follows the straight line of words and phrases easily, focused upon them as essentials to improving his, and Seigaku's, tennis. The murmured whispers and giggles of the many girls as he leaves sensei's office and walks down the hall to class are inaudible. For him, the hallway is silent, despite the loud ruckus that, he knows intellectually, should ring through it.

Tezuka does not question this odd phenomenon of his world; there is no need to listen, and thus hear, unnecessary comments and sounds, and so he does not.

--

The day Fuji walks onto the same court as Tezuka, he hears drums. Hundreds of drums, beating a rapid, thrilling pulse. The sound of millions of hearts, racing in anticipation. Or maybe, Fuji muses, just one heart—his own.

As they both take their positions on opposite sides, the pounding grows, louder and louder until, abruptly, it breaks. Into silence. A silence as pure, and as strong, as crystal. His wave has met the shore. Fuji's eyes fly open, even as he prepares to serve.

The sound of his racket meeting the ball rings in his ears like the music never had, and Tezuka's return is just as deafening.

--

For Tezuka, the moment Fuji serves, there is tiny, hesitant chime somewhere in his head, like a small child's first attempt at a foreign instrument—insecure, but growing bolder. He returns the ball easily, and the chime grows a little louder, and begins to change notes, almost like a scale.

He loses his focus for a split second, noticing Fuji's eyes, and for the first time, how blue they truly were. A blue that rings in his ears with the low thrumming of a cello. The ball streaks past him.

"15-love."

--

When the match ends, sound returns to Fuji's ears and his eyes close with the familiar sense restored. However, it doesn't grow quite as loud or as full as before and he finds that he could concentrate on certain things now. Like the way Tezuka wears a softer smile than usual as they met at the net, hands clasped together. It is slow, wistful melody that played now, first by a lone flute and joined by a piano.

When Eiji bounces over to half-hug him happily, a cheery, playful violin joins the medley and various instruments add themselves as his other team-mates follow behind the redhead.

--

For once, Tezuka hears the cheering of the people arrayed outside the court. He hears the sighs of the wind brushing past his face, and the flutter of something within himself. The music has receded, but there is still a dim echo that remains. An echo that grows in strength when he looks across the court at Fuji.

And he is surprised, but not unpleasantly so, to realize that the sounds around him do not make him lose concentration—it merely affords him a new kind of awareness.

--

Fuji's world will never be quite the same, but neither will Tezuka's. One's world has gotten quieter, with more room to think and concentrate, while the other's is lighter, endless silence relieved by sweet, distant melodies.

The two of them understand this, accept it, and an orchestra's slow crescendo rings simultaneously in their ears.

* * *

Tell me what you think? ♥  



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